Making Decisions

     Recently I have been wondering what are spiritual principles which underpin making decisions, and why are decisions often so hard for me to make. This somewhat poignantly reminds me of a story that my high school biology teacher related to his class, which is that affluent cultures often have children who find it hard to decide what kind of baseball cap they will wear (whose team, etc.) oblivious to the reality that there are people in the world who have to decide how they are going to get food for that day. The point of the story was to suggest that one might need to take a broader perspective on the decision itself before feeling vexed or worried about it.

       It might be helpful to consider the opposite approach: namely, why decisions are hard to make in the first place, and what kinds of attachments might be inherent to that difficulty. We often consider some decisions to be ‘once in a lifetime’ and can lead to a lot of regret in not making them. But it’s important to consider that the decision is really just one of many thoughts that people entertain in the course of a day, and none of these thoughts are permanent. Even though a decision might seem irrevocable or might lead to regret (in taking or not taking the choice), there is always an opportunity to modify the conditions behind the decision somewhere down the road. Causes and conditions are always changing, and even the best-laid plans are bound to change as we progress into new conditions. That being said, it’s probably a good idea not to become overly attached to any meanings one assigns to the decision itself.

       Another principle which I find useful is to treat the decision as something that is arising momentarily, similar to states in meditation. If you think this is a dubious claim, consider a decision you felt compelled to make last year, or the year previous. Are you now feeling the consequences of that intensity? Chances are that in majority of cases, one accommodates to choices made. This means that over time, the feelings of bliss (“I made the best decision!”), relief (“thank heavens I didn’t take that other choice!”) and regret (“I wish I took that other choice”) are bound to die down as one begins to realize that the decision and its conditions have already passed, and one has to face the consequences of choices previously made. Perhaps the meditative approach might be to discover the process of going through a decision, with an open state of awareness, not attaching to doubtful thoughts.

     I am going to venture that, aside from doing something socially irresponsible or reckless, there are few conscious choices or decisions that are so catastrophic that they cannot be modified over time, or at least tolerated. People have a capacity for resilience and for buckling down when there is increased pressure, as well as acting effectively when there is an emergency. Doing and going through the choice itself are often much smoother than the decision making process itself, since the latter might involve considering a whole lot of unknowns which may or may not necessarily arise in the course of performing a project or task.

An Empathic Look at Desires

  I am currently reading the chapter on the Hells in Surangama Sutra, looking more specifically the ten causes and six retributions. As Buddha is explaining to Ananda, there are ten causes which come from the habits and thoughts of beings, and corresponding retributions. As I am reading this passage, I notice that desire is the first of the ten causes, and as the ten causes progress, they seem to get closer to 'enmeshment' that arises when we choose to act on desires. For instance, if I have a lot of desires (first cause), I start to develop craving for specific outcomes (second cause),  which in turn leads to the plotting and planning that gives rise to an arrogant, competitive outlook on life (third cause). The fourth cause is hatred, which likely arises when I start to harbor resentment toward others who can easily obtain what I desire, and the fifth cause (enticing others) refers to the habit of trying to coerce others to colluding with what a desire. I think of this fifth cause as trying to 'dress up' one's intentions or plans in a kind of veneer of false advertising, or selling a product that is already pretty thin. Falsehood (the sixth cause) and resentment (the seventh cause) refer to tendencies to mislead others as well as oppose others in our pursuit of desired objects. By the time we get to the eighth cause (wrong view), it seems that we are starting to get into ignorance, or holding deluded and false views which are likely exacerbated by the desire and hatred.
    Now, I am not sure if I am reading this correctly, because there is no particular reason to interpret the ten causes as a progression, per se. However, I find that this creative interpretation can be quite valuable, because it seems to contextualize desires as a root cause of a lot of suffering, particularly sensual desires or longing. I just wonder, however, does this passage of the sutra intend to inspire fear in the monastic community, especially fear of backsliding into the sensual realm? I believe that considering Ananda is originally seduced by desire in the beginning of the sutra, it makes sense that desire would be so fundamental and worth discussing and exploring. However, I wonder, is this the only way of looking at desires, namely something that brings about karmic retribution?
   In my opinion, most of the desires that people have are played out in a social realm, and therefore they almost always involve other people. If I am part of a street gang, for instance, I might be there because I crave recognition and status, as well as the ability to play a part in a community, rather than feeling alienated. In fact, this is probably how the majority of people become involved in gangs: there is a kind of social currency which involves gaining power and prestige in relation to others. But in a more fundamental sense, desire in this case might also stem from the long to feel connected to a larger group, even if that larger group may not be involved in the most savory practices. Could being affiliated with a community have mixed motivations, I wonder? Could it be longing for ego continuity (prestige, status, respect etc.) but could there also be a longing to transcend ego by serving a wider community? I think that it's useful to look at one's desires from both perspectives, rather than trying to repress desires and not deeply examine their contexts.
   With wisdom, of course, one can distinguish the kinds of thoughts that can lead to good karmic results and the ones which are only about upholding the ego. I think that this is what the Buddha means when he suggests that more 'pure thoughts' lead a person away from Hell, whereas indulging in emotions almost always leads to some difficulties. However, it seems important that a person still develop some degree of empathy toward desires, whether it's one's own or others, because it's not just 'me' who desires but a whole network of beings. If I only focus on transcending my own cravings or at least trying to see them in perspective, this attitude ignores the others and might only get me into more and more difficulties. People sometimes experience situations where they try to suppress feelings of anger, for instance, only to find that the person to whom they are angry provokes them even more. Why? Well, I think it may be because we haven't dealt with the emotion in a compassionate way, so the emotion returns to us in a greater force. Once a person is clear minded yet compassionate about the emotion, it tends to come back with much less force and muster.
  If I only try to deal with my own desires, I am also creating a false ego which divides 'me' from the 'others', and this can also lead to a kind of spiritual arrogance. The philosopher Montagne had a good understanding of this when the talked about the Stoic philosophers. In Montagne's view, too much of an emphasis on trying to suppress desires can lead to a haughtiness which often brings about conflict, both within oneself and in others.

Surangama Sutra: A New Translation (2009). Buddhist Text Translation Society

Finding Voice in a Voiceless World

  When I took a course in teaching writing at OISE, I was introduced to the idea of voice, particularly through the writings of Donald Graves and Peter Elbow. Both Graves and Elbow define voice as the kind of presence of a person's felt identity in writing--something that I find difficult to grasp and articulate. Voice is something that often eludes one's grasp because it doesn't get 'taught' in the same way as grammatical rules are taught. More so, and quite contrarily, voice often comes out the strongest when teachers are not drawing too much attention to the mechanics of writing, but are more attentive to the sincerity of the writing, or how much it truly speaks from one's own heart and voice. Style is definitely one aspect behind voice, but I think that topic choice can also be another aspect. Children's ability to choose topics that are meaningful to them and their experiences seems to be a good way to garner the quality of uniqueness in voice.
    Does sincerity of voice truly matter in spiritual life, one might ask? Does it matter whether one is truly and authentically 'oneself' when all selves are somewhat illusory? I think that the answer to this is in the way the self is treated. Children often say things with complete abandon and barely any sense of compunction, mainly because they often haven't yet been socialized or conditioned to behave in acceptable ways. I think that voice has not so much to do with 'authentic' identity as it does with a way of being that isn't attached to any particular rule, opinion or view of the self. It just sort of 'is', and it comes out in short bursts of clarity and calm. Can it be induced? Sometimes yes, but more often than not, a person needs to go through a process where they cut away their sense of who they 'should' be in favor of something that is more dynamic and responsive to the needs of the moment.

On Forgetting Oneself

 There are good and bad kinds of forgetting. I am thinking about situations where people lose themselves to the mass society, and lose sight of who they are and what they want in their lives. I don't think that this is the kind of 'self-forgetting' that Buddha or any spiritual teaching is trying to convey to people. More so, it's very easy to confuse the self-transcendence of meditation with some diversionary tactics, like getting distracted in the Internet, and how these two very different activities create two different effects on the mind: one being to bring the mind to oneness, while the other is to scatter the mind's abilities, in effect allowing thieves to steal its energies away.
  There is an expression which says, in effect, 'forgive and forget'. But does forgiveness really mean 'forgetting', or is forgiveness more similar to an embracing of the pain and misery in an integrated way? I am talking about the way in which the more we try to forget painful situations, the more likely they will come back to haunt us. To truly forgive is to understand how the situation arises and creates suffering, to embrace that suffering as part of one's growth as a person, and to see beyond the suffering to a new level. I believe that, as with meditative practices, forgiveness requires a full attention to understand the situations that give us suffering: a kind of clear-eyed, unsentimental looking at the pain itself, rather than trying to run away from it or pretend that it doesn't exist.
    

Going into Depth

 I have found recently that the 'depth' metaphor needs to be expanded a bit to include circumspection. We tend to associate depth with the idea of going extensively into a topic, when in fact, sometimes depth comes about by linking the topic seemingly randomly to other things one may know or think about. This free association does not necessarily arise from a systematic approach, but it often happens by having the freedom to play with different combinations to see what works best.
    At work, for instance, I often try to solve a problem by trying to get as clear a definition and understanding of the problem as possible. This is the 'analytic' approach, and it parallels the efforts of logical positivists to find clarity on the meaning of a term--perhaps without realizing that the meaning of any term is never isolated, but exists in relation to other shifting terminologies. What I explored today at work was the idea of broadening problem solving by considering a variety of permutations of actions, from a variety of angles. Rather than trying to delve into a key 'problem' related to a topic, it might be that understanding comes from gently unearthing the topic and seeing its contours as they are, from a variety of perspectives. Approaching problems with this attitude of gentle inquiry changes the way we look at so-called 'problems'. It's not the deficiency or the holes we are looking for but the presence that we appreciate and admire. This is a different way of looking at depth that seems to emphasize a horizontal discovery of how things interconnect with each other.

Theory and Practice

 Now that I have had the opportunity to conduct classes in a small school, I am getting a feel for how to adapt lesson plans. I believe that in some respects, I get to understand where theories of education and practices intermesh, as well as where there is discontinuity and disconnect.  

            There is something especially freeing and wonderful about ‘just doing’—not necessarily knowing the ‘how’ of something but having the means and the space as well as the support to find out the how. I think that in some regards, this supports the view that embodied learning is far more interesting than rote learning or simply learning the theories. Doing often seems to reduce the anxieties of wondering whether I can or I can’t perform a certain task. At the same time, however, performing a lesson gives me the opportunities to understand theory in different ways. In my lesson plans on James and the Giant Peach, for instance, I have often been asking myself whether there are implicit values in how I teach comparison, or metaphor, or even cause/effect---do these categories reinforce a ‘static’ model of the universe, or might there be ways for young learners to get a feel for how different their perspectives might be from fellow classmates? In other words, when I do a lesson on comparison or characterization in books, to what extent do the descriptions I introduce reinforce cultural biases (what a culture values the most in appearance, style, manners etc.) rather than giving the students a chance to think about what they see in the person? Are there analytical and critical skills that I can introduce in this lesson besides the dualistic skills of learning ‘opposites’ or polarizing characters into ‘good’ and ‘bad’?

I think that theorizing about other possibilities allows me to see that even ‘doing’ uncritically can reinforce views of the world that are not necessarily open or compassionate. Theories can open up possibilities for new ways of doing, so long as they are not taken to be absolutes or rules.